Dominance
by KiwiStar
Summary: Ron's having a horrible day when he's confronted by Draco. What will happen between the Weasel and the Ferret? And will Ron prove more dominant than he looks?


**Hello my dears, this is my first HP fanfic, so forgive me if I screwed anything up. The pairing is Draco/Ron, Slash, obviously. So, if you don't care for it, don't read it. I own nothing except the idea, so please read, review, and enjoy.**

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><p>To put it bluntly, Ronald Weasley was not having a good day. His day, in fact, was a disaster since the moment he walked into the Gryffindor common room. It seemed as if there was a dark cloud looming over him, similar to the ones that now rolled over the castle, with the exception that the ones over the castle were unleashing a barrage of cold, heavy rain. A deep sigh passed his lips as he rubbed a hand over his face and through his ginger-hued locks, wiping water from his eyes. Quidditch practice was coming soon, the pitch across from where he was standing was usually a safety retreat for the fifth year prefect; however, a good portion of the Slytherin house were in the stands, overlooking the upcoming practice session.<p>

Again, Ron sighed and shook his head. He loved Quidditch, but today, his head wouldn't be in the game. The song the Slytherins had recently become smitten with would get to him, he knew it. That tune would just add to his already shitty day.

"Ron!" A voice called behind him and he turned his head just in time to see Harry bound towards him and clap a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Hey."

"Hullo." Ron murmured halfheartedly.

Harry's eyebrow rose. "Okay...uh, ready for some Quidditch?" He asked.

It was Ron's turn to look at Harry incredulously. He gestured to the weather around them.

"Yeah and? We've practiced in worse. Ron, you'll do fine." Harry stated, to which Ron sighed. He hadn't told Harry how his day had been yet. He wasn't exactly in a talkative mood and Harry never asked, so he never told. Ron followed Harry to the locker room, further soaking his robes. As they changed and headed out to the pitch, the pit in his stomach expanded. He only hoped he played decent enough to avoid complete humiliation. His blue eyes glanced at the rain, then to his broom and the Slytherins in the stands before repeating the cycle again. Another sigh slipped his lips.

"Hey." A voice said behind him, and he turned to face Hermione. "Ron, you'll do fine. You have to be optimistic about this. They're just immature." She gestured to the stands.

"Thanks." He faked a half-smile. The brunette smiled too, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Good luck, Ron." As she made her way over to a separate part of the stands, a boom of laughter erupted from the Slytherins.

"Weasel's got a girlfriend? Eh, Weasel? Even you could do better than that Mudblood." A familiar cold voice called out and Ron felt his skin go hot. He was about to stalk up to the stands when Angelina put a hand on his arm.

"Ron...head...in...the game. Ignore them."

"Kinda hard to ignore punk ass, whiny gits." Ron muttered under his breath as Angelina called for the to mount their brooms, then to rise into the air.

Ron nearly fell off his broom as the Quaffle ricocheted through the air from one side, and a Bludger from the other. He was caught in a cross hair and narrowly broke away. The Bludger soared through the air where it was hit by Fred, the Quaffle, unfortunately, soared through the middle ring. Even from this far up in the air, he could sense Angelina's exasperated sigh, and he could most definitely hear the chants of the "Weasley Is Our King" chorus, followed by snide laughter. Another red-hot quiver of anger struck him as he clambered back onto his broom.

"That's enough for today guys." Angelina called, and, with a huff, Ron returned to the ground. He deftly kicked the earth, sending a splatter of mud into the air, and onto his face.

"Bloody hell!" He cried, wiping it away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry's concerned look and Hermione quickly shuffling toward him.

"It wasn't all that bad." She stated quickly. Ron could hear the lying tone in her voice, the shy smile she bore only made it that much more obvious. "I mean...there's room for improvement..."

"Or another Keeper." Ron mumbled. Harry smacked his arm.

"You're fine, Ron..." He stated as they made their way towards the locker room. "Hermione, we'll catch you later."

"Library." Hermione stated, to which Harry nodded. Hermione glanced at Ron. "Are you okay, Ron? You seem...less than swell."

"It's...nothing. Nothing important." He lied.

"Sure?"

"Yes." He replied stonily. "Just a bit of everything."

"If you say so..." Hermione sighed: turning to Harry. "How long?"

"Forty minutes." Harry replied as he set off with Ron towards the showers. "Later, 'Mione."

She nodded towards Harry and Ron before shuffling back towards the castle. Harry and Ron walked in silence until they reached the locker room. "You okay, Ron?"

"Obviously not." Ron spat. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's alright." Harry murmured, peeling his Quidditch robes from his body. "Wanna talk about it?"

"In a bit. I want to shower first. Not that it'll make a difference; I'll be soaked when I go out anyway."

A short time later, Ron and Harry were sitting on benches opposite each other, pulling on their clothes. "I mean, today has been rubbish."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"For one, I fell out of bed this morning, then on my way down to Potions – you had gone ahead – I tripped down the stairs and ended up running in late, so now I have detention for the next fortnight, then someone, as a prank, decided it would be a good idea to hide my parchment on me, so I had to go through and explain to Snape why I could not take notes, which also landed me serving detention under the eye of Malfoy...and..."

"Ron, mate, that's a lot." Harry said softly, putting a hand on the fellow Gryffindor's shoulder, "that really stinks."

"I _know_!" Ron cried in desperation.

"I need to go, meet Hermione." Harry said, "It's been nearly thirty minutes,and I'll be late."

"Alright, mate. I'll be in the commons later." He waved at Harry as the raven-haired boy scurried off. Sighing, Ron slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out of the locker room.

"It more than stunk..." Ron chided to himself, not paying particular attention to where he was going. His hair stuck to his face and rivulets of rain trickled down his face. "Maybe I should quit the team..."

"Now that sounds like a plan, however; that'd slightly damage our chances at the Cup this year, Weasel." Draco Malfoy laughed. He stood close enough to the castle to be protected by a slight outcropping. A smirk was painted across his face, and the mere presence of the Slytherin made Ron's blood boil. "And all I want is the Cup out of that dreadful House of yours. Anywhere would be better than Gryffindor."

"Bugger off, Malfoy." Ron grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Make me, this is part of the grounds, none of which belong to you. Why don't you go and have fun with your lovers? Or are Harry and Hermione breaking off into their own thing? Is that why Weasel's so upset?" Malfoy taunted, which drew Ron nearer. "Such a loser, Weasel. I reckon you can't keep anything yours for very long. You've never had anything be completely yours, have you?" Malfoy chuckled. "Besides that broom of yours, of course."

"Shut. Up. Malfoy." Ron growled through clenched teeth, drawing closer to Malfoy.

"Your girlfriend ditched you for your best friend."

"She is not my girlfriend." Ron stated.

"Oh, then...you're boyfriend ditched you for your best friend then?" Malfoy inquired snidely. Ron frowned, knowing that a fraction of the statement held true. Well...not necessarily a fraction as much as an undertone. "N-no..." Ron said slowly. "Why do you give a damn anyway? Or are you finally growing a heart?"

"I'll grow a heart when you grow a pair."

"I assure you my pair are perfectly fine." Ron smirked, inwardly surprised by the comment.

"Whatever. You're a loser, Weasel. You're lousy at Quidditch," Malfoy spoke, coming slightly closer to Ron, but still under the outcropping, "I reckon you're playing for a different team, with the way you act half the time. You're a pansy, Weasley. "

Ron had fire in his veins, anger pulsing within his blood. A fury was building in him, the day's events coupled with the crap Malfoy was laying on him. "Not...now, Malfoy."

"Why not?" The blond chuckled. "Late to a shag? Hmm, is it Potter, or perhaps that Longbotto –" Malfoy's voice cracked and faltered as Ron grabbed fistfuls of the blond's robes and slammed him into the wall. "What the bloody hell, Weasley?"

"I told you, 'not now'. But rules never do apply to you, now do they?" Ron growled. "I'm done with this shit, you hear?" He stood a full head taller than the Slytherin, who was leaner than he. Malfoy quivered and gulped.

"Get your hands off of me, Weasel."

"No. I should make you feel everything you've done to me, to my friends..." Ron trailed off.

"Come off it, Weasley. You and I both know that this isn't about them. You're the one pissed off. For playing for your own team –"

"Own team? What, too afraid to say the word, Malfoy? To put so much fear behind such a small word...it's pretty...pathetic, if you ask me." Ron gritted, shoving Malfoy harder against the wall.

"I'm not afraid of the word." Malfoy scoffed at the idea, his stony grey eyes darting away from Ron's, an act that brought a slight smirk to Ron's features. He noticed the difference in Malfoy's breathing, the chest beneath his fist was rising and falling more quickly.

"Prove it."

"You're pretty...forceful. I'd expect you to be...submissive." Malfoy said quickly, changing the subject.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. I prefer...dominance." He mused, not even caring that he had released one of his biggest secrets to his greatest enemy.

"Wait...what?" Malfoy stuttered. "That's sick..."

"Oh, Malfoy..." Ron smirked, "you have no idea how pissed I am right now. Rather than jump to punches, I'm forcing you to have a conversation with me. Albeit, it's not a pleasant one." His knuckles were white, and he was shaking with suppressed anger. He was playing this to his advantage, even though the illogical side of him – the one that always appeared when he was angry – was beckoning him to beat the snot out of the pompous ferret in front of him. Fighting Malfoy physically never ended well. They'd both come out beaten, and badgering another fight within weeks. No, this wouldn't end in flying fists. "Have you ever been so mad, you couldn't fight someone?"

"That...doesn't make any sense." Draco frowned, the venom still thick in his voice. "You're a fairy, Weasley. You probably can't kiss worth a damn and..."

"Malfoy, why do you care if I can kiss or not?"

"Another mark against you." Malfoy smirked back. Both boys were staring deeply into the others eyes, reading for a implication of the next action.

"Trust me, I can kiss very satisfactorily. I can satisfy."

"Prove it, git." Malfoy sneered, whipping the challenge without second thought. The next thing Malfoy knew, were a set of lips closing over his own, and the hands sliding down to hold his wrists against the wall. The grey eyed Slytherin gasped, caught off guard by Ron's touch. Ron smirked against Malfoy's lips, taking his shock as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, putting one hand on Draco's neck. When he was sure the other wouldn't fight back, he moved his other hand to Malfoy's hip, grinding against him. A sound, halfway between a moan and a gasp, shuddered through Ron.

The Gryffindor tilted Draco's head to his, running the tip of his tongue across Draco's lower lip. A groan escaped the immobilized Slytherin, who was writhing beneath Ron. Ron could feel the heat radiating of the pale skin, the effects of his kiss becoming quite obvious against his thigh. He slowed the kisses to pecks as he pulled away. He ran his thumb across Malfoy's lower lip and patted his cheek.

"Did I prove it to you, Malfoy?"

"No."

Ron's face faltered for a moment. "Oh really?" He smirked again, his hand reaching down to touch the bulge in Malfoy's pants.

"But...I'm not satisfied." Draco replied. Cursing himself inwardly, Draco bit his lip. He had meant to shove the other away, spit in his face and call him a slur of ugly words before running to the Slytherin common room and telling everyone that Ron Weasley was a fag. This wasn't what his name was supposed to mean. _Malfoy_ didn't equal snogging, and wanting a blood traitor, a friend of a Mudblood...This wasn't Slytherin. He was supposed to be strong, dominant...

"True..." Ron trailed off, a smile spreading across his lips. "Very, very true..." His hand brushed against Malfoy's arousal, causing the shorter man's breath to hitch. "I think I can remedy that...but I won't."

Malfoy's thoughts became a blur. The line between what was wrong and what was right was curved now, bended and twisted, smudged beneath the fiery desire that hung in the cold air. He knew if his father had ever found out about this, he could kiss his name good bye. He should be strong and push Ron away, yet the warmth radiating from the redhead drew him in. It was raining, Ron should've been cold to the touch from being soaked to the bone, yet as he ran his fingers across his jawline, Draco felt the opposite. He was surprised at Ron, to be honest. Ron had used what he classified as Slytherin traits.

He knew the redhead always used his hands to fight, never the cunning mental game he had just played. Now, he was using both. Ron's hands felt Draco's neck, massaging the pale flesh between his fingers. "You're...sick." He managed to croak out.

"So're you." Ron murmured, not paying much attention to what Draco was saying. He had one hand against the wall, the other cupping Draco's chin. His body was leaning into Draco's, so Draco could feel Ron's breath fan across his neck. Draco's robes and been pushed off his shoulders, the top half folding over the rest as it bundled at his elbows.

"You're disgusting."

"Heard it before."

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Draco muttered. "You-you should be hitting me, throwing me to the ground and trying to snap my ne-" His breath hitched, his voice rising in pitch as Ron kissed his neck. "You should want to kill me. You can't possibly fancy me, you sick freak. You're a rodent."

"Said the ferret to the weasel." Ron smirked, finally pulling away from Malfoy, who looked at him strangely. "I'll catch you later Malfoy." He gave a faux salute/wave and shook his head. "Would'ya look at that, the rain stopped. Good to see you speechless, Malfoy. Mind if I call you Draco?" He smirked, squatting down to ruffle the blond's hair and smiled. "What would Daddy saw if he knew little Draco lost in dominance to a Gryffindor...a Weasley to boot."

As Draco watched Ron walk away, he gingerly touched his fingers to his lips. He had just been dominated...by Ron Weasley.


End file.
